


Composition

by la_dissonance



Category: Personal Shopper (2016)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 07:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12294303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_dissonance/pseuds/la_dissonance
Summary: Maureen gets caught.





	Composition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



> To the extent that this has a plot, it takes place in a slightly AU version of the movie where canon events take longer to unfold, or maybe where certain plot threads just....don't. I'm not sure if it quite arrives at identity porn, but this is where the relevant themes seemed to want to extrapolate out to. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to S for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Maureen tugs on the collar so the fabric will fall right, then zips up the zipper, encasing her neck in a column of silk. 

The dress settles over her chest, and with it, the thrill of the forbidden clenches behind her breastbone. It beats the same pulse of _shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't,_ that she felt in the background the entire time she was picking this dress out for Kyra, packing it up, bringing it here, but it's all worth it for the brief interlude where she gets to sidestep into another life. 

She's had to play closer and closer to the edge to feel that same thrill. Almost daring Kyra to find out. Leaving twice-worn underwear and stockings in trails across her bedroom floor, leaving dresses hanging askew from their hangers or once, draped carelessly over her vanity chair. Letting herself in with a delivery five minutes after Kyra leaves, passing her car on the street on her way back.

Tonight, Kyra's out on a business dinner with Vogue, according to the schedule Maureen maintains. She could be out all night; she could come home at any moment. 

Maureen smooths the dress down over her hips, twisting to see herself from another angle in the mirror. It's slim-cut and clings to the skin. She's already tried on half a dozen bras and discarded them for ruining the line; when Kyra decides she wants to wear this dress, Maureen will advise she go without. She kicks off her sneakers and steps into the stilettos she'd picked out to go with the dress. 

When she takes an experimental step, static glues the dress to her leg, outlining it from ankle to hip. It sends a spike of arousal up her spine, the image of Kyra like this at one of her events, nearly nude in front of all the people who admire her. 

But it doesn't feel right. The dress is meant to be one unbroken line, a smooth column from neck to ankle, and Kyra likes everything to be composed, perfect. Maureen crosses to the walk-in closet and rummages through the drawers of lingerie until she finds a slip that's the right length. She leaves the lingerie in disarray, and doesn't bother to hide her tracks. By now, the fact that Kyra hasn't found out feels like permission to continue. 

With the slip on underneath, the dress finally falls just right: structured and confining at the neck; sleek and close through the waist, then easing just enough at the hip to flow down to the floor like water. Maureen runs an aimless hand over her breast, causing her nipple to peak up and show through the fabric. It's just how Kyra would want to look: covered and exposed at the same time, carefully controlled. 

Maureen squeezes her thighs together at another throb of arousal, and oh, she really shouldn't risk it — even this leisurely, thoughtful dressing is cutting it close. She should exercise her better judgement and just take a few pictures in the bathroom mirror, imagine herself under the bright flashes of the press, and take this all off again, leave while she still has a job. There's always next time.

But better judgement isn't what got her here, and Kyra's clothes always feel like a cloak of invulnerability, once Maureen presses through her nerves to put them on. Before she's even aware of making a decision, she finds herself over by Kyra's bedside table, opening and closing drawers hurriedly. There can't be much time — if she's going to do this, it has to be fast. The wind blows the rain against the window in fitful gusts, and when a car's headlights briefly illuminate the street outside, Maureen freezes. It goes on without stopping, though, and Maureen goes back to rooting through the drawers with her heart hammering in her chest. 

It doesn't take her long to find what she's looking for, and she sits back on her spiked heels, considering. She'd imagined Kyra owning a designer vibrator, tiny and powerful and expensive and made to look more like modern art than sex. Kyra doesn't like work, in Maureen's experience. She doesn't have the time or patience to do something herself when it could just as easily be farmed out to someone (or something) else. Which is why the sleek heavy dildo in Maureen's hands makes little sense. It must be there for guests, for when making an effort is the whole point. Maureen puts the dildo aside on the bed and keeps looking. What she wants right now is whatever Kyra would use to get herself off after a long day, perfunctory and efficient.

When she does find Kyra's vibrator — on a charging cradle in the bathroom — it's exactly like she'd imagined. It gives her a small thrill of satisfaction; she is, after all, paid to know Kyra's tastes as well as Kyra herself. 

The placement and the apparent waterproof construction suggest Kyra masturbates in the bath, but Maureen files the information away and takes the vibrator back to the unmade bed. There's no time for a bath. Maureen will have to come back the next time Kyra takes a trip out of Paris.

On the bed, she burrows her face into the rumpled duvet and inhales deeply. Blindly, she fumbles the vibrator on and teases herself through the dress. She wants to press up into it, but she keeps it at just the faints ghost of pressure through the material, working herself up slowly as if she has all the time in the world. Her heart's in her throat because she doesn't — Kyra could be home any second — and she's going to make a wet spot in the front of the dress — but the nervous anticipation just heightens the sensation, and anyway, Kyra wouldn't give herself a guilty, furtive orgasm. This is her own house. 

When the slip begins to stick to Maureen's body, she hastily rucks the skirt up over her hips, points of her heels catching on the duvet as she shifts, then presses the toy back to her bare skin. She's close, and the hum of the expensive vibrator is white noise in her ears, so maybe that's why she hears a soft click from the other room and dismisses it. One more moment and then she'll go check it out. It's probably nothing, and she's _close_ , if Kyra were back she'd know. 

And then all of a sudden the air in the room shifts, and Maureen blinks open her squeezed-shut eyes, and sees Kyra standing at the foot of the bed. Words seem very far away. Maureen flashes hot all over and drops the vibrator on the duvet, where it hums on, slightly muffled. 

Kyra's silent for a long moment, and Maureen stares at her, frozen. She was caught on the crest of an orgasm, the wave swelling but not quite breaking. If it were possible to come from shame and frustration, from the shock of real, actual human Kyra superimposing herself over the imaginary Kyra she'd been conjuring up, she would have. 

"Get up," Kyra says.

Maureen scrambles to comply, ankle twisting awkwardly as her shoe catches on the bed. She tugs the skirt back down as she stands, but there's no real point. Kyra already saw everything. 

Kyra purses her lips and gestures to the dress. "Take it off." 

Another wave of embarrassment washes hot over Maureen. She should have known better, how did she think this would end, fuck. 

"I should have known you would develop this kind of little obsession." Kyra casts her gaze around the room, taking in the mussed bed, the vibrator still buzzing quietly where it was dropped, Maureen's red face and debauched appearance, the lingerie spilling out of the drawers in the closet. "This isn't the first time, is it? You know, you almost made me fire the cleaner. Or well, almost made me have you fire the cleaner. I thought she was getting lazy, but you know, I wasn't really paying attention. It would have been obvious."

Maureen scowls, startled out of her embarrassment. Not paying _attention_. Maureen could burrow straight into the marrow of Kyra's life, and she'd still be beneath Kyra's notice. Well, fuck that. "Obvious enough for you now?"

"Hmm." Kyra gives her a long look, up and down the length of the crumpled dress. "I said take it off."

There's a hard edge in her voice now that compels Maureen to obey. She glares at Kyra as she unzips the dress and pulls it over her head. She drops it at her feet, daring Kyra to say something.

"All of it," Kyra says, sparing only a disinterested glance for the discarded dress.

Maureen peels the slip off and toes out of the shoes. She drops both in a pile on top of the dress and stands defiantly naked in front of Kyra. 

Kyra sits down on the bed and switches the vibrator off with a slight frown of annoyance. She gives Maureen another once-over.

"Am I fired?" Maureen asks, impatient. She stamps down an urge to cross her arms and hunch over. She juts her chin out again instead.

"Do you think you should be fired?"

Maureen shrugs. "It's a shitty job."

"Then why not quit?" 

Maureen doesn't have a good answer for that. She stays silent.

"I have a theory." Kyra stands and circles Maureen slowly, trails a finger across Maureen's shoulders. Maureen's skin tingles beneath the touch. This is the most of Kyra's undivided attention she's gotten since the day she was hired, and it's a little heady so close up.

"That's fast. A minute ago you hadn't thought anything about this." Maureen has to clear her throat to make her voice come out.

Kyra circles behind her, letting her flat hand drift over Maureen's back. Maureen shivers. "Maybe we should test it out." She leans into Maureen's space, her still-damp coat brushing against Maureen's bare skin. They're the same height, but Kyra's still got her shoes on, so it feels like she's looming over Maureen when she leans closer to speak into her ear. "What were you planning to do with the dildo?"

Maureen follows her gaze to the toy, lying where she'd discarded it on the bed. "Nothing."

"Maybe you were hoping I'd fuck you with it."

The rasp in Kyra's voice makes Maureen curl her toes into the carpet. She opens her mouth for a flippant response and has to close it again without saying anything. 

Kyra doesn't seem to have expected a response. "I can see it. You have this little fantasy where I come home to this sordid scene, and instead of throwing you out, I grab the nearest thing and fuck you until you're begging to stay. Promising you'll do anything if only I'll forgive you."

Maureen gasps as the words go straight to her cunt. She hadn't entertained any such fantasy, but she certainly will now. 

The air feels cool on Maureen's back as Kyra steps away. Maureen looks over her shoulder and sees Kyra drag the chair from the vanity around so it faces the bed. Maureen takes half a step toward her, but Kyra waves her toward the bed. 

"I think you should show me. If you're so keen on getting off in my bed and dressing up in my clothes, you should show me how I'd fuck you when I found out. Make it look good."

Maureen turns back and raises an eyebrow. "While you just watch." 

"Unless you'd rather leave." Kyra shrugs off her coat and leans back in the chair, expectant. 

It's an easy decision, slotting herself into Kyra's absurd power-trip fantasies. She saw the way Kyra looked at her. Maureen picks up the dildo and crawls onto the bed, arranging herself to give Kyra a view. She spreads her legs wide, crass, the way Kyra must imagine her to be when she forbids her to spoil her nice things. 

Maureen had been turned on when she was just trying on clothes, and about to come when Kyra burst in. All this tense circling has only wound her tighter; when she drags the head of the dildo over her slick opening, just to put on a show, she shudders. Kyra makes an appreciative sound. 

She plays around for a few more moments, teasing herself with the tip of the dildo because Kyra seems to like it, then pushes it slowly inside. It's smooth - no sticky soft silicone or hyper realistic veins for Kyra - and Maureen is so wet that it slides in easily. She bites her lip and squirms anyway, playing it up for her audience. Through her half-lidded eyes, she can see Kyra leaning forward, mouth slightly open. 

If Maureen were alone, she'd get her hand on her clit and grind the toy against her g-spot a few times and come in less than thirty seconds. But she's been instructed to fuck herself like Kyra would, and Kyra wouldn't care about getting Maureen off right away. She'd be focused on her own performance, on holding the reins, making Maureen beg. So Maureen fucks herself with slow, deep strokes, fisting her free hand in the sheets to keep from ending things too quickly.

Even with her head thrown back, she can feel Kyra's eyes on her like hot brands. "Like what you see?" 

Kyra tsks. "I'm not here for free dirty talk. Stay focused."

Against her will, Maureen feels herself flush hotter, and her pace falters. Her wrist is starting to ache from the awkward angle, but stopping now feels impossible.

"You should go slower," Kyra says, voice low. Maureen whines in frustration. 

Still, she slows down, dragging the dildo all the way out before plunging it back in, inch by inch, then grinding on the fully seated length. It's not nearly enough friction, not nearly enough sensation, not nearly enough —

"You infuriating thing," Kyra breathes.

Maureen whines again. "I can't," she starts, but then Kyra kicks her shoes off and crawls over her, pressing Maureen's legs into the mattress and bracketing her waist between her arms. She bites at the lower curve of Maureen's breast and takes the dildo from Maureen's hand.

"A beautiful performance," she says into Maureen's neck, biting there too as if to punctuate her statement. "But your imagination is lacking. That isn't how I'd fuck you at all."

Maureen reaches for a witty rejoinder — the game feels very rigged, all of a sudden — but what comes out is a gasped "Show me."

"Oh, I intend to," Kyra says. She shifts her weight and starts fucking Maureen with the dildo, first a few shallow, exploratory thrusts, then quickly working up to a deep, punishing pace. Maureen cries out at the sudden flood of sensation, and curls into it.

Kyra flashes her teeth and pushes Maureen back down with her free hand. "You can touch yourself," she says, and then, "Touch yourself. I want to make you come," when Maureen is slow to respond. 

Maureen untangles her fingers from the sheets and gets them on her clit. Kyra grins again and bends her head to Maureen's torso, alternately biting and licking wherever the whim seems to take her — her tongue on Maureen's nipples, nipping a line down a rib, nosing along the hollow of a collarbone and sinking her teeth into the meat of her shoulder. The whole time, she keeps up the same unrelenting pace, until Maureen's whole body feels like a constellation of loosely connected points of burning pleasure. She arches off the bed when she comes, gasping for breath as her orgasm sings through her. 

"Good," Kyra says, sitting back. A few strands of hair are sticking to her face, and she's shining with exertion and self-satisfaction. She's still wearing the dinner outfit she came home in.

"Do you want me to," Maureen says. She attempts a gesture and mostly fails. Her whole body feels like wet spaghetti.

"Yes, please," Kyra says, radiating smugness. She crawls up the bed until her knees are even with Maureen's head, boxing Maureen's arms in with her legs.

"Kinky," Maureen says, then looks pointedly at Kyra's skirt. "This'd work a lot better if you were naked."

Kyra sits back on her heels. "Oh, no. We're doing it this way, since you like my clothes so much."

Maureen swallows. If Kyra thinks Maureen's going to be able to get her head under her skirt like this, though — "The angle's all wrong."

"Alright, then. Lift up." Kyra grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed and wedges it under the pillow Maureen was already using, propping her up. She surveys her handiwork and crawls forward a few more inches, lining herself up before she grabs the headboard over Maureen's head. "You can use your hands if you need to, but I don't like to be manhandled."

This close, Maureen can smell the arousal coming off Kyra in waves. The angle is hardly ideal, but Maureen manages to reach up from behind and push Kyra's skirt up over her hips. It's a short clinging suede one, and it stays where it's put. Underneath, Kyra's panties are all panels of lace and mesh, so sheer as to be see-through. Her thigh-high stockings are leaving dents in her skin that Maureen wants to bite, like Kyra bit her, but she's not sure that wouldn't count as manhandling.

"Leave them on." Kyra says, when Maureen reaches to pull her panties off.

Maureen drops her hands and noses at Kyra's cunt through the mesh. Her smell is musky and overwhelming. "Yes, just like that," Kyra breathes, and presses herself closer. Maureen's mouth drops open and she presses her tongue to Kyra's slit, teasing her lips apart as best she can with the underwear in the way. It's not long before the fabric is soaked through. Above her, Kyra is groaning softly and undulating against the pressure. Maureen wants skin. She wants to taste her, properly.

Experimentally, Maureen licks a stripe up the crease where Kyra's thigh meets her body, following the line of lace where the underwear is riding up. Kyra lets out a high moan, so Maureen does it on the other side, then nudges the lace aside to reveal a sliver of labia, and licks again. Kyra grinds against Maureen's face. "Yes," she hisses.

The way the sodden material is sagging, it's not impossible to work inside it and get her mouth on skin. _This_ is what she'd been waiting for. Kyra is dripping wet and velvety soft; Maureen feels like she could lie back and eat her out for hours

Kyra is making impatient sounds now, twitching toward and away from Maureen's mouth as if she can't find what she's looking for. Maureen hooks the crotch of the panties and pulls it aside, and with the improved access sucks on Kyra's clit in earnest. 

Once Maureen gets going, Kyra is loud: high, keening noises on every breath, rapid encouragements or commands, the periodic groan that sounds almost as if it's ripped out of her. Maureen can only breathe in shallow sips, but she can tell Kyra is close. She's quivering and clenching on Maureen's mouth, and her stream of words is sliding into cut-off curses. 

She'd said _use your hands if you need to_ , but at this point, Maureen would consider it a point of honor to get Kyra off on her mouth alone. She laps at Kyra's clit, uses everything at her disposal — lips, teeth, nose, chin — pushes into it when Kyra grinds down. When Kyra's thighs clench around Maureen's face and she comes with a shout and then a satisfied moan, it feels like a distinct victory. 

There's no afterglow. Kyra takes one last deep breath and then levers herself up and off the bed before she's done shaking with the aftershocks, and pushes her skirt down, all business. 

Maureen wipes her face off on one of the pillows and lies back as she watches Kyra cross the room. Kyra takes off her earrings one by one and drops them in a bowl on the dresser, then briskly unbuttons her blouse and unzips her skirt.

Maureen covered in sweat and sticky patches, and the bed is no better. It feels like she's been here half the evening, but it can't have been more than an hour. She sits up and grimaces. Her street clothes have to be here somewhere.

At the movement, Kyra looks over as if she forgot Maureen was there. "You're still fired," she says, looking at Maureen's debauched state with something between distaste and appreciation.

Maureen shrugs. "Kind of figured."

Kyra shrugs out of her blouse and peels off her stockings. She eyes Maureen again. "Call me next time you want to play your little dress-up game, though."

"Hah." Maureen locates her jeans by the closet and pulls them on without bothering to find her underwear. She winces as they chafe against her oversensitized skin. The ride home will be no picnic.

"You have my number," Kyra says, pausing by the door that leads to the bathroom. She's fully undressed, clearly just waiting for Maureen to leave so she can continue her evening in peace.

Maureen pulls her t-shirt on over her head and smiles. The game is about to get a whole lot more interesting now that Kyra isn't ignoring her. "You'll be calling me. And I bet I'm not fired. You won't find anyone else who knows your taste as well as I do."

Kyra blinks at her. "I can find another shopper."

The corner of Maureen's mouth tugs up, and then she can't stop smiling. It will be _amazing_ to watch Kyra realize how wrong she is. "Sure."


End file.
